


I think we could do it if we tried

by alaynestones



Series: the rest is confetti [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Body Shots, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Jon Snow and the Starks Are Not Related, Light Bondage, Long-Distance Relationship, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26435035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaynestones/pseuds/alaynestones
Summary: She can’t believe there was a time where she wondered if he could ever love her as much as she loved him. There isn’t anymore.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: the rest is confetti [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854727
Comments: 42
Kudos: 245





	I think we could do it if we tried

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation of you can call me by the name I gave you. Will be followed by two more parts. Enjoy.
> 
> [title from sofia by clairo!]

Sansa climbs out of the shower and wraps herself in a big, fluffy, hot pink bath towel. It belongs to Arianne. All of the grime from plane travel is currently swirling down the drain, although she took a shower before she boarded, so she wasn’t that dirty to begin with. But the sickness she had been feeling since late last night left her feeling icky. She vomited twice on the plane.   
  


Now, she wipes the steam off of the mirror. She blow-dries her hair and brushes her teeth again. She finds she looks very pale. Nothing a little makeup won’t fix, but it’s still disconcerting. If Jon saw her like this, he would be more likely to stick an IV in her than kiss her. 

Sansa hasn’t seen him in three months, and they’ve been planning this visit for a bit longer than that. He was supposed to pick her up from the airport next friday, but she arrived a little earlier than that. Her time off from work came earlier than expected. Benjen picked her up instead.

She leaves the bathroom, running a brush through her hair. She opens her suitcase and considers all of her outfit choices carefully. She brought only her best, and that is exactly the trouble. She doesn’t feel her best right now, but bloated and achy and decidedly unsexy. She doesn’t have time for illnesses, though. She’s supposed to be surprising Jon during his lunch hour.

Sansa looks at the clock. It’s 9:30. She still has a while to go before then. She decides to tug on her robe, and curl up in her bed until it’s time. Extra sleep would do her some good.

* * *

Something changed for them in Castle Black. After Jon told her everything, it wasn’t perfect. Not by any means. But it was real. It made them real. 

Before, she used to wonder if he could ever love her as much as she loved him. She used to lay tucked into his side at night, thinking about the inevitable: their separation. Jon would go back to London. She would go back to Boston. Things would not be the same. 

But then everything between them collapsed. All the secrets and the unsaid things. He kept a piece of her by his heart always. He would have ran through an airport for her. He saw her as no one else ever had, fragile and bare to her bones. And she saw him that way too.

They helped each other. Together, their skins grew thicker as they held each other. He held her on her bad days. She sang to him at night when he had trouble sleeping. They climbed into each other on cold days. They whispered things to each other that they would have never told anyone else and marveled at them together. He said to her, _Did you really email me everyday?_ She answered, _Yes. I just never sent them_. She said to him, _Would you have really ran through an airport for me?_ He answered, _like the wind._

After the day she got her cast off, he took her to dinner in town. He held the door open for her and pulled out her chair. They held hands underneath the table. They made love that night in a different way, by the fireplace, basking in the orange glow. He was so close to her—her knee was hooked around his waist and their noses were touching. She felt like he _was_ her, a part of her, anyway. Just like she was of him. 

  
“Things will be different.” Sansa murmured into his shoulder as he held her afterwards. “When we leave—it’ll be different out there.”

Jon’s hand caressed her calf, where her cast was previously. “I’m not letting you get away from me. Never again.”

She should have been anxious at the thought of being away from him, and she was, but she also knew that things were gonna be okay. She had never been so sure of anything in her life.

She can’t believe there was a time where she wondered if he could ever love her as much as she loves him. There isn’t anymore. 

* * *

Sansa wakes up to fingers running gently through her hair. She knows who it is before she opens her eyes because she knows him—his calluses and the smell of his neck and his voice. She should be upset, mostly at herself for allowing this to happen, but she’s too goddamn tired to be anything but needy. She was dreaming of him, anyway. 

She opens her eyes, she watches the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles at her. His mouth is moving, but she can’t quite understand what’s coming out of it. It’s gaelic. 

“What does that mean?” She mutters sleepily.

“Sleeping beauty.” He answers. “Even though you drool in your sleep.”

She wipes at her mouth. “You love my drool.”

“I do. I’ve missed it a lot.”

“More than you’ve missed me?”

“Not even close.” His nose touches hers. “Scoot over.”

She does as she’s told. Her body fits into his arms like a puzzle piece. His embrace is so familiar she wants to cry.

“I was supposed to surprise you.” She pouts.

His chin is atop her head. “You did surprise me.”

“But I was supposed to come to the hospital and surprise you during lunch. I had it all planned out.”

“I’m sure it was wonderful, _mo chridhe.”_

Sansa huffs. “Arianne told you I was here?”

“Don’t be mad at her.” His fingers smooth over the back of her neck. “She was worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” She protests. “I was just plane sick.”

“Even more of a reason for her to call me. I am a doctor, remember?”

She decides to begrudge Arianne, just this once, as she turns to bury her face in his neck. “You smell like a hospital.”

His laughter vibrates them. “Sorry.”

“Clean hospital.” Sansa amends. Almost too sterile, but with just a little bit of him, too. “I like it.”

He kisses her temple wordlessly, and she feels warm and fuzzy on the inside. She asks him, “What do I smell like?”

Jon doesn’t even contemplate this. “Lavender. Wax candles. Home.”

_Home._ She wraps her arms around his waist, eyes threatening to shut again. “I’m finally home.”

“You are.” He says in her ear. 

* * *

Sansa wakes up alone. The door to the room she is staying in is slightly ajar. Voices are coming down the hallway. She recognizes Jon’s voice. She tightens the sash around her robe and follows the noise to its source. 

Everyone is in the kitchen. Arianne is sitting on Benjen’s knee, holding a chipped blue mug, and Jon sits across the table from them, holding his own drink. He is the first one to notice her presence. His hair is all mussed from sleeping and his eyes are still squinting wearily. She’s forgotten how much she’s missed waking up to him. 

“How do you feel?” He asks her. 

Sansa stifles a yawn, and rubs her eyes. She doesn’t have a headache anymore, at least. “Well rested.”

“You could probably sleep through the apocalypse.” Benjen says.

“Don’t tease her. She needed her rest.” Arianne chides him, swatting her arm. “She looked like she could have faded away.”

“Thanks.” Sansa says dryly.

“You know I didn’t mean it that way, darling. I was just concerned.”

Jon stands up, and makes his way over to her. He presses the back of his hand to her forehead, brow drawn down tight. He does the same thing with her cheeks.

“No fever.” He says finally.

“Told you.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. Now that she could finally touch him, she would not be stopping. 

His hand cups her cheek. “Can I take you home now?”

Sansa nods. She thought he’d never ask.

Benjen tries to coax them into staying for breakfast but Arianne knows how to take a hint, and distracts him sufficiently with kisses while Sansa dresses quickly and grabs her luggage. Jon carries it to the car. This is when Sansa says her goodbyes.

“You told on me.” She whispers in Arianne’s ear as they hug. 

“Guilty.” She squeezes her tightly. “But I was worried. You understand, don’t you?”

She does, so she nods, and kisses her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Call us when you get home safe, please.” Benjen orders, embracing them both. 

They both agree to do so. Arianne kisses Jon’s cheek, and gives him a stern look. “Take care of my girl.”

He tells her, “Always.”

The drive into town is half an hour long. They listen to a podcast about arthurian england. Sansa holds his hand in her lap, and she remembers the first time she came to London. She remembers the plane ride and the lipstick on one of the stewardess’ teeth and she remembers how packed the airport was. While it was all happening, she knew it was going to be one of the days that she remembered for the rest of her life, because for the first time in a long time, she was exactly where she wanted to be. Now, she knows she remembers the day so well because it was also the day she met Jon. 

After she left London, she tried her hardest to forget these details. But after she left Castle Black, they became her saving grace. They kept her warm during all the lonely nights and lusterless days leading up to this one: her return to London. Her return to him. 

Upon entering the flat, she expects it to be just how she left it. She quickly finds that is not the case. It’s virtually empty, from the kitchen down to the bookshelves. There are boxes everywhere, both taped closed and still open. 

Sansa looks back at Jon, who is locking the door. She is unsure of how exactly to feel. “You’re selling it?” 

“Not exactly.” He tosses his keys on the island. “Val got it in the divorce.”

“She _what?_ ”

“It was one of her stipulations. The only way she would sign the papers.”

Previously, she had felt bad for Val, but this move was clearly motivated by nothing but pure spite. “Can she do that?”

Jon shrugs. “I don’t really care.”

That takes Sansa aback more than anything else. “You don’t?”

It was their home. Before that, it was his. It was close to the hospital, and to the bar he liked to go to with his coworkers afterwards. He liked the coffee shop across the street. The dry cleaning lady knew his name. He loved this place. 

“I think…” He hesitates for a moment. “I think a fresh start would be good.”

And then she understands. He had lost so much in this place. The babies. Her. Parts of himself, to an extent. There’s so much pain. How could he stay here? She says nothing.

Jon suddenly looks pensive, as he reaches out to take her hand. He pulls her to him. 

“Are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“For not telling you. Or talking to you about it.”

Sansa pauses. To be honest, she isn’t mad at the idea. Being with him in a place he shared with another woman is not something she wants. This had been their place together, him and Val’s. She doesn’t think that feeling will ever go away completely. 

She wraps her arms around his neck. “I think a fresh start could be good too.”

He touches his lips to the underside of her jaw, and then her cheek, and then just a little closer to her mouth. It’s not to be a tease, she knows him well enough to know he needs reassurance sometimes. So she kisses him. Underneath her hands, she feels him relax. Like the taste of her is his remedy. 

In his back pocket, his pager goes off. He sighs against her mouth. He turns his head just a fraction to take it out and look at it. She rests her head on the slope of his shoulder, waiting for the inevitable.

“I have to go.” He says finally.

She protests, nevertheless. “You just got off.”

“I know. But there’s been an accident. I won’t be long.”

She remembers this, his unexpected departures. Something else she would have to get used to again. Sansa nods. “I’ll wait for you.”

He kisses her forehead, and repeats, “I won’t be long.”

“Don’t make promises like that,” she mumbles. “Just tell me you love me.”

He takes her face in both of his hands, then. “I love you.”

She believes him. 

* * *

As sure as she was about their relationship, her faith started to waver when they got back to Boston. They took a plane instead. She didn’t tell anyone she was back, so they ended up taking a taxi back to her place. 

Inside of the brownstone, the elevator was still broken. They ended up taking the stairs. She got her spare key from her sweet old neighbor Anya. Then they were inside. 

It was freezing. She immediately went to turn on the heater. She came back to find Jon looking around. 

She shrugged off her coat, laying it on the couch. “What do you think?”

Jon frowned at that slightly. He took her coat, and hung it up on the rack next to the door, giving her a significant look. He did the same thing with his own. “Neater than I thought it’d be. 

Her mother had clearly done some tidying up. Her books were on the bookshelf rather than in the stacks she liked them to be in everywhere but where they were supposed to be. Her quilt was folded nicely over her arm chair. Her tin of cookies wasn’t on the coffee table anymore. There were no dishes in her sink. 

“You’re hilarious.” She deadpanned.

”I’ll be here all night.” He smirked.

They take their luggage to her room. She could tell her mother had been in here, too. Her bed was made. Her shoes were in her closet. The remote to the TV was on her nightstand. Sansa decided to make her room hers again. She kicked her boots off and flopped down onto the bed unceremoniously. Then she extended her arms out, and wiggled her fingers.

“Come here.” She told him.

Jon did not do so immediately. He put her shoes in the closet first, neatly, and set their luggage against the wall. He stood right in front of the bed. 

Sansa parted her legs. “Closer.”

He sighed, but conceded to leaning over her, propped up on his forearms. She pulled him by the belt until he was flush against her. Her lips skimmed against his neck. 

“I didn’t think this through.” His breath was hot against her cheek. 

She was unbuckling his belt, trying not to whimper. “What?”

“Booking my flight for tomorrow morning. I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave you.”

_So don’t._ Sansa wanted to ask him to stay. She knows he would, but she also knows he loves Eastwatch, and his family. Asking him to just give it up for her after two months of being together wasn’t fair. 

And she could do with this time apart. She could learn how to stand on her own awhile. Learn how to let herself be happy. Jon alone wasn’t the cure to that. It was time that she found one.

“You’re not leaving me.” Her throat suddenly felt tight. “Not forever. It’s just—bye for now. Right?”

“Right.” He said.

“You’ll call me, even though you don’t like phone calls, right?”

“I’ll call you.”

“And you’ll email me? I know you don’t like texting.”

“Of course I will.”

Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them. Her shoulders spasmed as she sobbed. Jon held her like he always did. But she didn’t need to look at him to know he was crying too. 

“We’re gonna be okay.” His voice was surprisingly level. “Alright?”

Sansa nodded, unable to speak. But he demanded it of her. He lifted her chin up so her eyes met his. “Promise me.”

He needed this reassurance as much as her her, she realized. He needed to know that this would work. He needed to know that she had faith in them, too. So she said, “Promise.”

She wasn’t lying.

* * *

Jon goes to work, and Sansa is left to her own devices. She’s already dressed, so she decides to get herself reacquainted with the neighborhood she once loved so much. She stops by the bakery and gets a slice of lemon cake. While there, she sees the frosted apple fritter she remembers Myranda loved so much. It prompts her to call her and Mya, and ask them to meet her. Thankfully, they agree to do so, after yelling at her for being MIA for so long.

Sansa takes a cab to the cafe they used to frequent at Eyrie college. Myranda and Mya are already sitting in the outside dining area. She notices they aren’t alone. A gray pitbull with an obnoxiously pink collar is nosing at their knees. 

“I can’t believe you're here.” Myranda cries, embracing her tightly. “It’s been so long.”

“Too long.” Mya adds. Her hug is even tighter.

Sansa wants to agree, but the dog trying to make her acquaintance is making it hard to do so. She allows it to sniff her hand, before scratching it behind the ears. Its tongue lolls out. She laughs. “Who’s this?”

“Aly.” Myranda says fondly. “She’s a rescue. Mya stole her from her dad’s evil neighbor.”

Sansa’s eyebrows fly up. “You stole someone’s dog?” 

“I stole an _evil_ someone’s dog.” Mya corrects. “Totally different code of ethics!”

And just like that, they are talking like they had always been talking. Sansa realizes just how much she’s missed them, and what’s been happening in their lives. Myranda is wearing a flashy diamond ring on her finger that she is proud to show off. 

“It’s beautiful, oh my god.” She turns Myranda’s hand to watch the diamond sparkle.

“It better be. It cost me a fortune.” Mya grumbles.

“As I recall, you both have several of those between you.” Sansa points out. They all burst into laughter. 

“You have to come to the wedding.” Myranda grabs her hand, and squeezes it tightly. “We wanted to send you an invite, but we weren’t sure where you were living.”

That wasn’t on purpose. But after Sansa left london, everything from there was a reminder of Jon. She retreated into a shell of herself. She didn’t talk to anyone, including Myranda and Mya.

“I’m so sorry we lost touch.” She says quietly, guilt burning in her throat.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, though.”

“She’s right.” Mya puts in. “We’re your best friends. Best friends keep in touch even when they’re in different countries. Just because you left Jon, didn’t mean you had to leave us too.”

“I know.” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t right. I’m sorry.”

Mya stares at her for a long time, until her blue eyes ultimately soften. “Promise to never do it again, and we’re square.”

Sansa holds her pinkie out. “Promise.”

Mya looks at her hand like she’s absurd, but Myranda holds out her own pinky and links them together, kissing her fist. They dissolve into giggles, holding each other.

“You could have told us you moved back, though.” Myranda says disapprovingly.

“I haven’t.” Sansa explains. “I’m just visiting.”

Mya arches an eyebrow. “Jon?”

She doesn’t look too happy at the prospect, but that doesn’t change Sansa’s answer. “Yes.”

“I heard he got married.”

“He did.”

“I actually haven’t heard anything about him getting _unmarried._ ”

“Mya.” Myranda scolds her. 

She shrugs. “I’m just saying.” 

“He got divorced last month.” It comes out a little more defensively than she intended it. 

“And then he came looking for you?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then tell us what it was like.” Myranda says, scooting closer.

So Sansa tells them everything. She tells them about the accident, and Jon coming to her side. She tells them about Castle Black, and all that’s changed between them. She talked about how he came after her, but found out about Val being pregnant. 

“He chose you.” Myranda is smiling dreamily. “I knew he would.”

“He should have done that a long time ago.” Mya argues, but even she isn’t as angry at him after hearing everything. 

“Maybe it took him awhile, but they’re together now.” Myranda counters. “That’s what matters.”

“What matters is that she’s happy.” Mya turns to her. “Are you?”

Sansa doesn’t even hesitate before she answers. 

She gets home around six, stunned at the realization. She is happy, with Jon and with her life the way it is right now. She’s content in a way she hasn’t been in a long time. Since before her father and Jeyne. It has nothing to do with Jon, but everything to do with him. He’s shown her that she’s worthy of love, and everything that goes into it. He’s shown her that she deserves good things. He’s shown her tenderness that is voluntary and unconditional. If Jon hadn’t come to the hospital for her, if he hadn’t agreed to take care of her, things would be extremely different, as would she. She wouldn’t have gone to therapy. She wouldn’t have made the effort to care for herself. She wouldn’t have consciously made the decision to try to live.

Things would certainly be different for Jon too. He’d still be stuck in an obligatory marriage. He’d still be obsessed with the self flagellation he’s been inflicting for longer than they’ve known each other. He’d still think himself unable to love. She hopes that isn’t the case anymore. She hopes he’s as happy as she is. She hopes she’s done the same amount of good for him as he’s done for her.

Sansa knows Jon is home before she even opens the door. She can feel it. And he is. He’s on his laptop in the kitchen. She can tell he’s been home for awhile because his coat is off. She loops her arms around his shoulders, burying her face into his warm neck. He closes his computer.

“You’re home early.” She notes. 

Jon’s hands cover hers. “I’ve got the rest of the day off.”

With tomorrow being sunday, that means she has him all to herself until Monday. She leans into him, pressed up against his scruffy cheek, and thinks about how she doesn’t intend to let him leave her before then.

Sansa begins to unbutton his shirt, slipping a hand underneath and smoothing over his chest. “Let’s order in.” 

“I had something else in mind, actually.” His mouth ghosts her ear. “I made a reservation at this place—” 

“A reservation?” She pauses her exploring.

“Yeah. At a new place. It’s italian. You like italian, still?”

She realizes that he’s rambling, not that it would come off as rambling to anyone else. He talks casually and measuredly. But she knows him. And she knows he’s nervous. 

“Is this you asking me out?” She teases. 

“We’ve been out plenty of times.”

“But not like _this._ Not like a _date.”_

Jon scowls. 

“Does that word make you uncomfortable?” Sansa presses. “Date?”

“Of course not.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He looks irritated at the insinuation. “Why would I be uncomfortable? This is the sort of thing people like us do.”

“People like us?” 

Jon’s neck flushes.

She’s unable to keep the ridiculous smile off of her face. “Are you calling me your girlfriend?”

“Why do you have to make everything a hundred times more difficult?” He grumbles.

“It’s just a question.”

“It’s a silly question. And it’s a silly word. _Boyfriend._ What does that even mean? I’m too old to be someone’s boyfriend.”

He’s rambling again. Sansa decides to be kind and not point it out. She runs her fingers through his hair. “But you’re mine.”

Instead of denying this, he pats his knee, and she comes to stand between them. His hands sit on her hips. “You’re horrible.”

She kisses him lightly. “But I’m yours.”

Jon tries not to smile but he fails terribly.

“I’m gonna go get dressed.” She tells him. “What time is the reservation? I’ll be quick.”

“It’s at 8.” He answers. “And you won’t.”

Sansa makes a minor adjustment to her statement, knowing that he’s right. “I’ll try to be quick.”

He calls after her, “No, you won’t.”

She knows he’s right about that too.

* * *

Sansa picks out a dark blue dress for the date. It’s sleeveless and perfect for the sumner weather, and reaches the tops of her calves. She wears her hair just the way she knows he likes. He was speechless for the smallest moment when he saw her, and it made it all worth it. 

There was a time where he would mince words and understate things because he was simply afraid to feel. Jon does not do so now. 

“Everything I want to say—it just seems like it’s not enough.” He’s standing behind her, watching her put on her earrings in the mirror.

“Go on.” She teases him. “I believe you.”

He turns her around so that they’re facing each other. His hands are rough, cupping her elbow, but he holds her so gently.

“You look stunning.”

Sansa feels her cheeks flush and her heart stammer in her chest. “Not too bad for a first date.”

He laughs. She loves the sound. She would do anything to be able to hear it always. 

“Sansa Stark.” She offers him her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Jon could have rolled his eyes, but he doesn’t. He decides to oblige her and takes her hand, trying his best not to smile. “Jon Snow.”

“You should have said Doctor Snow if you wanted to impress me.” She notifies him in a stage whisper. “First impressions are everything, you know.”

He snorts. “How do I impress someone who knows nearly everything about me?”

Sansa finds this to be a good point. Jon offers her his hand, and she takes it. 

The drive is nice, and positively scenic. She doesn’t catch the name of the restaurant before they head inside. It’s a saturday night, so of course it’s crowded. It’s also nicer than any restaurant she’s ever been to. She marvels at this as they skim the menus. Jon asks her what kind of wine she wants to order. She requests white. He makes it happen. 

“This place is beautiful.” She says, because she can’t think of anything else to say.

“Yeah.” Jon doesn’t look up from his menu.

They sit there for a while, in silence. He’s singularly focused on her menu and she’s waiting for him to focus on her. The longer she looks around this place, the more out of place she feels. Like a little kid playing dress up. She excuses herself to the restroom, suddenly self conscious of her appearance. When she comes back, Jon has put the menu down, and he’s cracking his knuckles. When she sits down, she can feel his knee bouncing under the table.

She asks, “Is everything alright?”

He hesitates for a long time.

“No secrets.” Sansa takes his hand underneath the table. “That’s not us. Not anymore.”

His knee stills. 

“I’m nervous.” He mutters. “I don’t know why.”

She looks around, and she understands. All the effort he had put into this—he was trying to make it perfect for her but instead he just made it uncomfortable for him.

She stands up. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What?” Jon’s brow furrows in confusion.

Sansa extends her hand. “This isn’t us, either. Come on.”

He stares at her hand for a moment, before taking it. 

She takes the keys and he doesn’t protest. She drives them to Harwin’s, the pub near the hospital. He would come here after particularly rough days. Sometimes, she’d drive him home if he was too drunk, which was never often.

“We can’t go in there.” Jon says, astonished,

“Why not?”

“Because Harwin’s isn’t the type of place you take a woman for a _date._ ”

“How would you know? When was the last time you went on a date?”

He presses his lips together tightly, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Exactly.” Sansa nudges him. “Times are changing, old man. Now come on. You’re gonna buy me a burger.”

She gets out of the car. Jon remains inside, shaking his head.

“We don’t have to eat here. We can find somewhere else.”

“But I _want_ to eat here. What’s the big deal?” He doesn’t answer that. “Unless you’re ashamed of me.”

She says it in a teasing sort of voice, but it’s actually something she’s worried about. A lot of his coworkers would be in there. What if he just doesn’t want to be seen with her?

He actually looks offended. “Why would I be ashamed of you?”

Sansa suddenly feels shy, as she shrugs. She doesn’t say anything.

Jon shuts the door, rounding the car. He takes her hand. “Let’s go.”

They go inside. She doesn’t recognize anyone from the hospital, but they recognize them. Or at least, him. She realizes that his reputation at the hospital must have not changed much in the last two years. Or if it did, they only saw him as scarier, judging from the wide eyed looks she sees. 

They take their seats at the bar. He pulls out the stool for her, and hands her a menu. 

“Who’s the lovely lass, Snow?” The bartender asks. He is a particularly grizzly looking man. 

Jon just flips through the menu, not looking up. “Don’t get yourself in trouble, Jorah. Or me, for that matter. I use my hands to make money. I don’t need to break them beating your face in.”

The man. Jorah, just laughs as if that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, before moving along. 

“Friend of yours?” Sansa asks, stifling a laugh. 

“Oh, one of the best.” He says dryly. 

They both get the same thing—a cheeseburger and fries. They don’t drink, even though that’s what people do in pubs. Instead, they talk, just like they used to. About life in general. Jon tells her about his mother and stepfather’s farm, and how they’ve been begging to meet her. Sansa tells him about the new therapist she transferred to after leaving Castle Black—Shae. He tells her about the woes of house hunting. She tells him about her most peculiar art buyers. She convinces him to play darts with some of the interns, although they were more than willing to just relinquish the entire board. They play two extremely competitive rounds of pool. 

She realizes, during this entire date, that this is just one of the many reasons why she loves him. He might not be the best at words, but he’s true with his actions. She asked him if he was ashamed of her. He showed her he wasn’t. He showed her that he loves her. Sansa remembers exactly why she doesn’t doubt that. 

“What?” Jon asks, when he catches her watching him. 

They’re both eating their food. He’s talking with his mouth full. Rather than tell him the embarrassingly mushy gushy truth, she tells him, after swallowing. “You have mustard on your mouth.”

He doesn’t. “Really?”

Sansa nods solemnly.

“Oh.” And rather than grab a napkin, he leans forward, and kisses her fully on the mouth and she’s too busy giggling hysterically to be angry with him.

They leave the bar close to midnight. He’s got his arms wrapped around her shoulders and she’s leaning into him. She relishes in it. He doesn’t tend to be so affectionate in public. 

“It’s your turn.” He says.

“My turn?” She questions.

“We went somewhere that I like.” He nods towards Harwin’s. “Now take me somewhere you like, so we’re even. It’s only fair.”

Sansa grins at him. “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.” Jon agrees, but then he falters as her smile just widens. “I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

She just laughs.

* * *

“A dance club.” Jon says blankly.

More or less, this is exactly what the Red Keep is. Sansa used to come here with Mya and Myranda when they wanted to have fun. College students tended to frequent it a lot.

“Just a club.” She corrects him. 

“Where you dance.”

“Well….yeah. If you want to.”

“I _don’t_ want to.” He says immediately. “No.”

“You’re supposed to be _outgoing_ on first dates.” Sansa counters. 

“Not this outgoing.”

“Come on! We’ll just get a drink and go.”

“We were just at the pub. If you wanted a drink, you should have gotten one there!”

“You can’t back out now.” She reminds him. “A promise is a promise.”

He snorts. “I didn’t promise you anything.”

He’s right about that. 

She sighs all forlornly. “If we don’t go in, I’ll be very disappointed. I’ll probably cry.”

At the mention of tears, his hand tightens around the steering wheel. But still, he doesn’t move. Then, Sansa pretends to sniffle.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Jon snaps. He opens the door. “One drink, Sansa. _One drink._ I swear to god….”

The red keep is as packed as it always is on a Saturday night. The music is so loud she can barely hear herself swallow and the dancefloor just consists of people rubbing up against each other obscenely. Jon clutches her hand like she’s a lifeboat. Sansa leads them to the bar. There’s a sign with a bunch of hearts that mentions tequila. She can’t quite read it in the dark. 

“What’s this?” She asks the bartender. Her hair is an eye catching shade of blue, and cropped close to the nape of her neck. 

“Couples get tequila shots free.” She answers. 

“Oh! We’re a couple.” Sansa says brightly, as she gestures towards Jon proudly. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Alright.” The blue haired girl looks amused. “How many can I get you?”

“Four, please.”

Jon gives her a look. “You said _one_ drink.”

“It’s a shot.” Sansa waves him off dismissively. “One equals two. Everyone knows that.”

“And you ordered four. One of us still has to drive.”

“Two each isn’t bad! You’re not a lightweight.”

“ _You_ are.” He says pointedly. 

She ignores that, as the bartender slides all four of their shots towards them. Sansa looks at them, and frowns. “You didn’t put the salt on the rim.”

“Take a look around, bambi.”

She does. She spies two guys with their shots of tequila, and a cup of salt. He licks his neck, before sprinkling the salt on top of the wet area. Then he licks it, taking the shot afterwards. He bites the lime. 

“Oh.” Realization dawns on her. “Like body shots.”

“Exactly.” The bartender hands her a cup of salt. 

Sansa turns to Jon, sweeping her ponytail off her neck. “Do you wanna go first?”

He gapes at her. “What?”

“Are you chicken?” She raises her eyebrows.

“No, it’s just—” His neck is bright red, as he averts his eyes. “There are people _everywhere_.”

“They aren’t paying attention to us.” 

They really aren’t. The bartender is now servicing some other girl, and everyone around them is too caught up in their own world. The boys who were doing the tequila shots are now making out against the stool. So are a lot of other people. Apparently, tequila puts people in an erotic kind of mood. 

“I can find someone else.” Sansa says innocently.

Jon glares at her. “Don’t you dare.”

“Then come here.”

He does, very reluctantly. He looks around, to see if anyone is watching, but she takes his face into her hands so that his eyes are on her.

First, she kisses him, and he immediately kisses her back. She nearly loses herself in it, when she remembers just what she’s supposed to do. She pulls back, and kisses him one last time. Then she kisses his jaw and underneath his chin and his neck.

The second time she kisses his neck, she sucks lightly, tongue running over his skin. He groans so quietly, she nearly thinks she imagined it. But she pulls back. The way he’s looking at her—she wants him to look at her like that always.

“I’ll go first.” She says, like her mouth hasn’t dried up at the sight of his swollen mouth.

She takes a pinch of salt, sprinkling it onto his neck. She picks up her tequila and downs it. It burns her throat, but she doesn’t cough. Any grimace on her face, she hides in Jon’s neck when she puts her mouth on him. She licks every last bit of salt off his neck, before she bites into the lime. It doesn’t taste as sour as it should, with his eyes on her like that.

“See?” Her heart is beating fast, but she smiles slyly. “Wasn’t that hard.”

“Do the other one.” He says.

This is an order. She understands it from the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes and the way his mouth is parting, as if he’s imagining touching every place on her body with it. It’s an order, and she’s more than happy to obey it. She’s anxious to.

So she does. She sucks the salt from his neck a little longer than she should, with his hands on her hips and the scruff of his beard tickling the side of her cheek. When she pulls back, he catches her by the chin, and brings her in closer like he’s gonna kiss her. She waits for him to do so. He doesn’t. 

Instead, he asks her, “Where’s the salt?”

She hands it to him. 

Jon pauses at the slope of her neck, tracing it with his nose. His hand is on her lower back. Sansa wants to shiver, but she doesn’t. He kisses her, and she gasps. They are small, featherlight kisses on her neck, but she feels like she’s gonna combust. He likes this more than anything—her anticipation. Her eagerness. Making her wait. 

When he finally licks her skin to sprinkle the salt on top, she whimpers, but when his mouth covers her neck a second time, she moans. She can’t help herself. With the lime just coming off of his lips, she kisses him. The last shot is forgotten. 

He’s holding back. Sansa hates it more than anything. She hates how he never does too much. Sometimes, she wants him to. She wants him to lose control of himself and take control of her. 

“Take me home.” She pleads against his mouth. “Please.”

_Please._ That’s what does it, she realizes, as she watches his face transform, and his teeth catching on his bottom lip. Her begging. 

She’d do so gladly.

* * *

He takes her home. Some of the anticipation must have worn off for him in the car, because when she kisses him once they’re inside his flat, he hesitates.

“Normal people don’t do this on the first date.” Jon says against her mouth. 

“We’re not like normal people.” Sansa reminds him, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

“No. We’re not.” He agrees.

Their mouths meet again. She tries to kick her heels off, but since they’re also sandals, she has trouble. She huffs exasperatedly, moving to yank them down, when Jon stops her. His dark eyes are so gentle and warm. 

“I don’t wanna force you to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“You can’t force me if I like it.” She says quietly.

He doesn’t reply to that. She pushes his shirt off his shoulders and it falls to the ground.

“You could do anything to me. Anything you wanted...And I’d like it.”

Jon makes this sound, all gravelly and rough. His lips brush hers again, but they don't’t touch. They stand there for awhile, breathing each other in, until his hands skim her hips and he brings her even closer. 

“What if I wanted to make you moan?” He asks. “Could you give that to me?”

His voice is so low it sends a shiver down her spine, like she’s cold. But really, in his arms, she’s coming apart. She nods without even thinking, and then, when she realizes what exactly he means, she nods even faster.

He takes off her dress. Then her shoes. Then her thong. He does it all so gently, and she feels so loved. He gathers her close to him.

“Tell me where to touch you.” 

Her forehead falls against his. She gasps, “Everywhere.”

Jon slips a hand between her thighs first, touching her where she’s so wet that she can hear it. It should be embarrassing, but it’s nothing of the sort. Not when he hums against her skin like she’s pleased him more than she could have ever hoped to. He strokes her in nice and firm circles. 

He carries her into her room. _Her_ room. It’s where he’s been sleeping ever since Val left. He lays her down, hovering over her. When he kisses her this time, it is hungry and demanding and everything she could have hoped for. His knee is in between her thighs. All she would have to do is move her hips, and—

“Go on.” He murmurs, like he’s read her mind. 

It’s perfect, the friction of his slacks, the muscle in his leg, pressed up against her cunt. She rolls her hips, up and down, and her eyes shut.

“Look at me, _mo chridhe._ I wanna see you.”

She looks at him, because he asks her to. She’d do anything he wanted as long as he kept asking her. 

Jon kisses her again. Soft and slow this time, as she eagerly moves up against his leg like a dog in heat. His hands are cupping her breasts. It’s wonderful, but it’s not enough. He knows this. 

“Tell me what you want.” He whispers.

“You know.” Her voice comes out as a high whine. 

“I wanna hear you say it.”

She remembers what made him take her home. How all she had to do was say the magic word. So that’s what she does. “Please—touch me. _Please._ ”

His thumb circles around her nipple and her back arches. “I am.” 

“Not there.” Sansa can’t take it anymore. Her hand starts to move between her legs, but Jon puts a stop to that and secures both of them in his grip right above her head. Her toes curl. This— _this_ is what she’s been searching for. A complete and total surrender. 

“Tie me up.” She begs him.

That takes him a back so much, he lets her go. “What?”

She puts her hands together. “Tie me up.”

“You want me to?”

_I want to give you what you want. I want it more than I want to breathe._ Sansa can’t quite verbalize this now, because her want is choking her. She just says, “Please.”

That’s all it takes.

In a weird way, she realizes, as he’s using the ribbon she considered tying her hair back with to restrain her hands, she is in control of him. She chose to submit to him, and she could choose to stop. She knows he would do anything she asked of him. It feels good to be in the hands of someone she knows would never hurt her.

Her hands are tied, and above her head. “Is this okay?” He asks her softly. 

“Touch me again, and it will be.” She promises.

He does. Jon’s hand is between her breasts, then it slides further and further down. His thumb moves over every freckle and mole and he traces them like their constellations. Until he gets between her legs. She wiggles her hips.

“You want me inside you?” He says it like it’s nothing to him at all, as if it’s something he does everyday. But his breaths are coming in fast and hot against her skin. He’s so hard against her that she knows it must hurt. 

Sansa nods so much that her head swims.

He sinks his fingers inside of her, one after the other, until she’s gasping and clutching at the headboard. This isn’t what she meant when she agreed that she wanted him inside of her. He knows this as well as she does. But she takes it. Or she tries to. She’s tight.

Jon kisses her hip bone, such a contrast to his unrelenting fingers. “Let me in.”

His fingers curl and her hips hitch off the bed. Then he moves as if he’s soothing her, or something inside of her. A wild animal. His thumb pushes at her clit and her pleasure takes her unawares. It shouldn’t have been that easy to make her come so fast, but it was. 

She thinks that he’ll finally take pity on her and sheath himself inside of her, but he doesn’t even give her a chance to catch her breath, because his mouth drops down to her clit and he sucks so hard that her entire body trembles. His fingers are still moving inside of her and suddenly his tongue is everywhere, even inside her. She could feel herself adjusting to him, as if he’s coaxing her open like a stubborn flower. Her bound hands grip the headboard. 

A hot pressure is unfurling in her stomach, more powerful than the last. So powerful it brings tears to her eyes. Jon is intent on drawing it out and claiming it for his own. Sansa is completely inarticulate at this point, having been reduced to nothing but a pile of breathy, desperate moans and pleas. He moves up to slant his mouth against hers, to drink in every last one of those sounds. The taste of her on his tongue is a tangy kind of sweet. She opens her legs. She thinks, _Yes._

But her and Jon aren’t thinking the same thing. Not even close. His leg is pressed against the center if her and he’s moving her hips, rubbing her just right. She comes needing something to hold onto, needing him to hold onto, but with her hands bound, she has nothing. It’s as if she’s falling into an endless abyss.

His leg against her is suddenly too much. Even the softest touch is painful. Sansa shifts her hips away from him as the pleasure recedes. Jon leans down to kiss underneath her navel. She thinks it’s innocent enough, until his mouth ends up on her cunt again and she starts sobbing. 

This time, his tongue is on a mission. It enters her in a plunge that sends her fingers gripping for the air, as he uses his fingers to spread her open. She can’t even push him away, or grip his hair, but her voice works perfectly fine. She could tell him to stop. She doesn’t.

Not even as the pleasure becomes too much and tears slip down her cheeks, not even as his thumb moves determinedly of her clit. When she comes, it feels like she’s imploding. Like she’s falling apart.

Jon holds her close to him, like he’s putting her back together again. Then he kisses her so gently. Sansa uses all of the energy she has left to spread her legs so he fits perfectly in the cradle of her hips. 

There’s no need for talking. She meets him halfway, hips lifted off of the bed as he enters her. Always slowly and carefully, making sure she’s had proper time to adjust to him. It doesn’t take long before her body is welcoming him, pulling him in and threatening to keep him there.

“That’s right.” He says quietly. His hands move her hips back down to the bed, as he leans forward until he’s buried inside of her. “That’s the way.”

Then he withdraws, and thrusts inside of her again. And again. And again. Another type of feeling takes over her, the sated, contented kind. She wouldn’t object to anymore pleasure, but she likes the feel of him inside of her, the feel of him taking his own. She likes watching him lose himself in her. She likes him telling her what she’s doing right. She holds him close to her, using her legs. She’s pressing her mouth against his neck. When he kisses her, she sucks lightly on his tongue, and he comes moaning in her mouth.

They stay like this, together for a moment. Jon unties her, kissing her wrists. When he tries to leave her, Sansa holds him close for just a bit longer, nuzzling into his neck.

Eventually, he does leave for the bathroom. He cleans up the trickle between her thighs, and they lay tangled in each other’s arms. She doesn’t remember falling asleep, just the feel of him stroking her hair. 

* * *

When they wake up in the morning, they make love. Then, they take a shower. They go grocery shopping to pick up some things. They get back and start watching a movie—Return of the Jedi, just because it’s on. Jon tells her his mom took him to see it in theaters. Sansa responds to this by calling him ancient. She gives him head on the couch and lets him come in her mouth. She brushes her teeth afterwards. The taste is still there just barely, but she doesn’t mind. Her jaw is sore. 

“Your wisdom teeth are coming in, _mo chridhe._ ” Jon says, after he inspects her mouth for her when her pain persists. “How come you’ve never gotten them taken out?”

Sansa frowns. “I forgot.”

He stares up at the ceiling. “You drive me mad.”

She scowls, and then attacks his face with kisses, demanding that he take it back. He doesn’t, and keeps laughing. She tries to stomp away from him, but he holds her in his lap securely on one knee, before opening his laptop on the other. 

“What are you doing?” Sansa asks after she’s tired of pretending to be mad at him. She leans against his chest.

“House hunting.” Jon answers, then corrects himself. “Flat hunting. Semantics.”

She shows him the three places he’s found so far. They are not places she could picture Jon in. They do not feel like home.

“Maybe a house could be nice.” She suggests, playing with his hair. “You could afford a good one with your doctor money. More space—”

“Too much space.” He argues. “What am I gonna do with all that space when I’m not even home most of the time?”

“It doesn’t have to be that much space. You can choose how much you want.”

Sansa takes the computer, and begins her own search. Jon observes, chin on her shoulder.

She points out a particular house with a garden. “That reminds me of Ben and Ari’s place at Castle Black.”

The garden on the screen is sprawling, and blooming. It has a white picket fence. 

“Do you miss Castle Black?” He asks.

She considers this. “I miss the remoteness. I miss the quiet. I’m kind of tired of the city these days.”

“Yeah.” He drops a kiss on her shoulder, “I get what you mean.”

Sansa finds another house with an office that has a big window. She sighs. “This would be perfect for painting.”

“Really?”

“ _Really_. Look at that view.”

Jon pauses.

“So...a room to paint in. That’s a must have? In this hypothetical house?

She flushes, suddenly realizing what she was implying. That it would be her house too. She fiddles with the neck of her shirt, wishing she could disappear underneath it. 

“I...I don’t know. It’s up to you.” She mumbles. “Whatever you want.”

“What I want is you.” He says it so softly, Sansa thinks she’s imagined it. 

She turns to him, heart in her throat. Her voice is small. “You always have me.”

“Always?”

She presses her palm to his. Their fingers interlace. She agrees, “Always.”

Jon looks down at their hands, and then back up at her. “A paint room, then? For our house?”

_Our_ house. Sansa loves how it sounds in his mouth. She wants him to say it again and again. Warmth is spreading from her chest to her toes and she’s never been more happy. More content.

“And a dog.” She bounces up and down.

His laugh is loud and clear. “A dog?”

She leans into him. “Someone to keep me company while you’re off cutting people open and saving lives.”

“That’s fair.” Jon concedes. “Any more requests?”

She pretends to consider this, before she wraps her arms around her neck. “Just you.”

His nose nudges against hers. “You always have me.”

“Always.” Sansa agrees. It’s a promise they’re making to each other. It’s not getting broken any time soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Drop a comment if you liked it.


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